


Inevitable

by Haecceity



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, F/M, Gen, Revenge, swords swords swords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haecceity/pseuds/Haecceity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shot AUs on a common theme:</p>
<p>“There’s this theory. Given an infinite universe and infinite time, all things will happen. That means that every event is inevitable, including those that are impossible. That’s as good an explanation for this as anything else.”<br/>-- Interstate 60</p>
<p>Batman: You're insane. <br/>Owlman: Does it really matter? There are alternate versions of me that you would find quite charming. <br/>-- Justice League: A Crisis On Two Earths</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Richard set foot in the village of Cowholt, currently under D’Haran occupation. No one would look him in the eye and one old woman moved back inside her cottage when she saw him coming. Zedd walked in to the inn first and Richard noted the way the two men by the hearth spat and muttered. “What’s going on?” Richard murmured to Zedd.

“I don’t know,” Zedd muttered back, bushy brows drawn together. He turned to look at Kahlan. “Do you have an explanation?”

/\/\/\

Darken had finally relaxed with the news that the Seeker had been killed. He allowed himself a day of revelry before setting his mind to what his enemies would do next. The Seeker might be the one prophesied to defeat him but if the prophecy could be averted by him, then his enemies could avert the prophecy in their own way. He needed to buy time.

The first step was to muddy the waters. Darken seeded false prophecies. Some were vague references to mythology so old only the very wealthy could afford the books they were recorded in. Some were contradictory nonsense based around real prophecies.

Getting them into circulation was laughably easy. All he had to do was act like he was hunting down their origins and terrified they might be true.

Darken kept his amusement to himself.

/\/\/\

Kahlan cleared her throat softly. “They think he’s an agent of Rahl.”

“But he has the Sword of Truth,” Zedd whispered vehemently.

The Confessor’s lips thinned. “I’ll tell you when we’ve eaten.”

/\/\/\

Darken came to an answer as he practiced his swordplay. If he were the Confessors and their pet wizards, he wouldn’t give up on a weapon as potent as the Seeker. The Sword of Truth was still out there and there were still wizards to Name a Seeker. The death of a prophesied infant wasn’t something he’d allow to halt any of his own plans.

It was only a matter of time before they decided that now that his baby brother was dead, it was time for someone else to take up the mantle of Seeker. They’d be recruiting from the upper classes. Learning to use a sword was time consuming and expensive. The Midlands had too many ambitious nobles to choose from. Who would turn down the opportunity to be adored by thousands?

There was no way for Darken to suborn them all or even guess which ones would be most likely to be conscripted. What he had to do was discredit the title.

/\/\/\

“Everyone knows what the Sword of Truth looks like,” Kahlan said softly over a bowl of stew. “There are many stories. There’s an unfortunate truth to them. We Confessors have been fighting it but people-”

“People will believe things because they want them to be true or they fear they are true,” Zedd finished.

“Yes,” Kahlan looked intently at the wood grain of the table.

“What does that have to do with the Sword?” Richard asked.

/\/\/\

There were descriptions of the Sword of Truth in several histories. Darken recruited several blacksmiths to create replicas. The first of these replicas went into play just after Darken’s nineteenth birthday.

At first they were just swords. Lifeless pieces of metal that physically resembled the Sword of Truth. It wasn’t enough to fool a wizard, sorcerer, or Confessor.

Then again, few people had magic enough to know the difference.

/\/\/\

“Brian the Bloody,” Kahlan said in a low voice, “was from a small village in the mountains near D’Hara. When we sent Silas out to meet him when we found out his sword was a forgery. He didn’t believe Silas and declared the Confessors to be corrupt.”

“When was this?” Zedd said between bites.

“About twenty years ago.” Kahlan said. “He was killed at the Battle of Two Sheep.”

/\/\/\

Darken continued to learn new spells. He had limited strength but finesse could be just as good in some circumstances. He began practicing on the Sword forgeries. He started off with relatively simple but useful spells. Blades that wouldn’t rust. Blades that wouldn’t break.

/\/\/\

“Keillor the Kind’s sword was magical,” Kahlan continued. “But it wasn’t the The Sword of Truth. He made a heroic last stand at the Well of Hope about fourteen years ago.”

Richard shook his head from side to side. “But they needed a wizard to Name them.”

“Not everyone believed that,” Kahlan said. “They accused the wizards of being jealous among other things. Our ally, Giller, defected shortly after that.”

/\/\/\

With Giller’s help, Darken began trying flashier spells. A Sword that glowed when the wielder’s hands reached a certain temperature. A Sword that caught sunlight and discharged it when it was drawn from its scabbard.

Then he began learning how to layer spells and it became a hobby all on its own. He was developing an artistic appreciation for the Sword. Without seeing it, he couldn’t know what had gone into its creation but it had to be incredibly complex.

/\/\/\

“Sel’s sword glowed just like in the legends. Anferoth couldn’t convince him that that wasn’t proof that he was divinely chosen to be the Seeker. About twelve years ago, Sel negotiated a cease fire between the Resistance and Lord Rahl.” Kahlan said sourly. “Two weeks later, when word got back to Aydindril, Mother Confessor Serena declared it illegitimate. Sel was hanged as a traitor. Less than a month later, Morgan emerged wielding another Sword and the Resistance divided against itself. Cowholt was one of the villages that withdrew.”

“But that was more than ten years ago,” Richard said in disbelief.

“It got worse,” Kahlan said.

/\/\/\

Being able to layer spells led to exciting new possibilities. In cooperation with his sorcerers, Darken added traps to the decorative and utilitarian spells. He had three favorites.

There were many options for potentially nasty spells and they all took a lot of power. Fortunately, swords were in the unique position of being able to capture and harness power. Blood would always be an important component in sorcery. It was life and birth and death. The Sword could capture that power and use it to fuel the more difficult spells. For pure power and artistry, Darken’s favorite was the Sword that captured the souls of those the wielder killed and paraded them before him whenever he drew it.

For deviousness, Darken liked the Sword that released a pulse of pleasure whenever the wielder used it to kill someone. He and his sorcerers had worked that one out after an extended study of how and why Agiels worked. Even better, they added in a hook to make the wielder crave that pleasure more with each death.

Darken’s third favorite Sword was one of the more subtle ones. The more the wielder used it, the more he lost control over his emotional reactions. Anger, sadness, happiness, fear, all were eventually overwhelming and given time, would lead to the would-be Seeker being a bundle of raw nerves.

/\/\/\

“We tried to gather all the forgeries we could find but we couldn’t catch them all,” Kahlan said in a low whisper. “And not everyone cooperates. Sometimes they even steal them back when we try to move them.”

“You didn’t think this was worth mentioning before?” Zedd asked in a voice of distant thunder.

“Would it have changed anything? Would you have believed me?” Kahlan demanded.

Zedd paused and sighed heavily. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy but I thought Richard would have the people behind him.”

“You had to see for yourself. We should leave soon before they gather the courage to attack us.” Kahlan said.

“We’ll have to change our route. We should avoid people when possible,” Zedd sighed as he stood.

Richard glanced around the inn again and met the sullen, angry stares of the people he’d come to help.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darken's mother is not happy. At all

This would not do. Anah Rahl was willing to put up with many things but _this_... This was not to be taken lying down. At the age of sixteen she had crossed over a thousand miles of mountains and forests to meet her bridegroom.

He had been waiting for her; tall and blond and handsome enough for the authority he wielded. She still wasn’t sure why her husband’s people called him “Lord” rather than a higher title like “King” or “Emperor.” It was something to do with an obligation to the people from what she had understood of her husband’s underlings’ ramblings.

The wedding had been acceptably lavish and the ceremony that bound her to Panis Rahl for all eternity had been as smooth as her father’s wine which had been drunk in copious quantities afterwards. Then with a great display, her husband had ushered into her bridal chamber while his top ministers watched. Three minutes later, they’d gone back out to show the court the resulting blood on the bedsheet and Panis Rahl had rolled over and gone to sleep.

It hadn’t taken long for Anah’s grandmother’s letters to begin insistently reminding her of her duty to her family, her husband, and all the people of both their countries. She need to bear a child. Preferably a boy. Preferably healthy. Possibly even two healthy boys if she could manage it.

Anah was surprised to find in the ensuing years, that she was homesick for the servants and pets she had left behind but not for much of anything else. Even with the tedium of D’Hara’s grubby little court for contrast, at least here the people who claimed to be her peers didn’t behave as if her father were the source of all her wisdom. She was certain they sneered behind her back. Still, it was good not to have to see that.

After Panis Rahl took her to bed on her twenty-sixth birthday, he told Anah that he would not be coming to her chambers again for some time. She had known that he had been visiting his Mord’Sith and his concubines more and more frequently and so was unsurprised. He appeared rather taken aback that chief emotion she expressed was relief rather than disappointment.

Reasoning that if her husband had stopped bedding her because he suspected her of being barren, he could hardly complain about who she took to hers, she began to cautiously play her own games at court. She knew perfectly well that were she caught, the consequences would be unpleasant and likely permanent but it was _exciting_ and she was so _bored_. Besides, her chief lady-in-waiting helped her procure a contraceptive. Anah suspected the old woman was half as bored as she was and enjoying the intrigue just as much.

Well, maybe not quite as much. Anah found she understood her husband a little better.

The day the great Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander came to the Court of D’Hara was a perfectly ordinary day. No sense of impending doom hung on the intermittent sunshine. The clouds carried no more chill than usual.

Two months later, her husband returned to her bed and did so every night for a week to her irritation.

Six weeks later, she knew why. After checking with her lady-in-waiting to make certain her tea had contained the herb, Anah went to see the healer who told her husband who made the announcement to the court. She did manage to get news to her parents before the rumor mill reached them.

Anah discovered that she detested being pregnant. As a child, she had once contracted a fever that had required magical assistance for her to survive. This feeling was quite similar. Her lady-in-waiting assured her that the illness usually faded during the latter part of the pregnancy. It was not so for Anah. She remained very ill for the duration of the pregnancy and something like eight weeks afterward.

On her first excursion after her illness, Anah made the mistake of asking about when her son would be presented to find that it had already happened the previous day, her husband being uncertain when Anah was going to be healthy. In an oddly brittle tone she had asked when the wizard would be leaving.

The wizard’s last night, she invited him and her husband to a private dinner in her rooms. She had the cooks prepare a meal from her homeland. She picked the mushrooms herself.

\---

“It was worth it,” she told her son, stroking his hair softly. He looked so much like her father.

“I know, mother. I know,” Darken nodded to Mistress Cara. Killing a lord of the House of Rahl couldn’t go unpunished.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zedd saves a baby from a magical curse

Zedd gave the infant in his arms a tender look. The baby mewled petulantly and tried to move to a position where it didn’t hurt. The fever burned off the child in waves as Zedd closed his eyes. He could feel the web of the spell poking its tendrils into his nephew’s vitals. It drew its strength from the child so that as the boy grew weaker, the spell grew stronger.

Zedd recognized the author of the spell and a small noise escaped him.

“What is it, Zedd?” Haddica asked anxiously. “Can you help him?”

“Yes,” Zedd took a deep breath and dispelled the curse. The baby’s cries softened and disappeared. The child fell into a natural slumber as Zedd passed him back to his mother.

The door burst open and Panis strode in, flanked by a matching set of Mord’Sith. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Visiting my sister and nephew,” Zedd answered easily.

“My Lord-” Haddica began.

“Silence!” Panis turned his attention on Zeddicus. “I don’t want anymore wizardry under my roof. Is that clear?”

“Very clear,” Zedd said without agreeing. “I’ll walk myself out then.” He needed to have a talk with his father.

\---

“And who told you this?” Carracticus growled at his son, his Gifted one, his treasure.

“Haddica told me he was ill. I examined the spell myself. I’d know your handiwork anywhere. Just tell me why.” Zedd’s tone took on a pleading note.

“He’s going to be a monster,” Carracticus said.

“How do you know?” Zedd asked, trying to understand.

“Shota told me.”

“Not everything Shota says happens,” Zedd pointed out.

“She showed me the books in which it is written.”

Zedd folded his arms over his chest. “He’s a child. If you try to hurt him, I will heal him. Killing children never leads to anything good.”

“Ah, the certainty of youth.” Carracticus sighed. “I don’t want to have to fight you on this.”

“And I don’t want to have to fight you. I will if you force me.”

“Zedd, nothing good comes of teaching them magic. The Creator made their magic dormant for a reason.” Carracticus said, teeth on edge.

“If he’s going to be a monster, _if_ , it won’t be until he’s old enough to do more than cry. Why not give him a chance to see if we can avert it some way that doesn’t end with infanticide?” Zedd said passionately.

“It might be too late by then,” Carracticus countered.

“Father, please,” Zedd said. “I can’t let you do this. Not to Haddica.”

“She should never have married him.”

Again, Zedd didn’t disagree. “But she did. And they have a son.”

“She’ll only get more attached to him, the longer this gets drawn out.” Carracticus glared at Zedd.

“I won’t breathe a word to her.” Zedd said, sensing victory. “You should meet him.”

Carracticus’s expression closed. “What’s his name?”

\---

Haddica bounced Jensen as she told him the story of how Jack stole fire from the Keeper.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Cara nor Dahlia becomes a Mord'Sith

Cara met Dahlia on the first day of school. The harvest had been pulled in and so the children were free to learn the things that made them part of the hated D’Haran Empire. The history, the writing and the basic arithmetic. Miss Nathair stood in front of the class looking severe but hopeful around the eyes. Immediately, Cara wanted this woman to think she was special. Looking from the corner of her eye, Cara saw most of the class felt the same way.

Dahlia was seated next to Cara with the smallest children, sitting in the front on the floor. Her boots were a size too large and her hair was cut unevenly. She barely acknowledged Cara when Cara smiled and tried to be friendly.

Pouting, Cara returned her attention to trying to form the letters on her slate. Later, when the sound of the fifth years chanting their times tables was loud enough to cover any noise she made, Cara murmured to Dahlia, “Do you want to go swimming? I know a good spot.”

Dahlia flicked a nervous glance at the teacher and then shook her head. “Too cold.”

“I could just show you where it is,” Cara said hopefully.

“My Gran will worry if I’m late,” Dahlia said, then flicked a shy glance at Cara. “D’you want to eat lunch together?”

By lunch, Cara was grateful for Dahlia's company. She’d met a few of the other children in passing but so many new faces was overwhelming. Grace was plainly irritated by her and was ignoring her in favor of catching up with friends she hadn’t seen for months. Cara and Dahlia ate their lunch in a quiet corner. They pretended to be explorers, in the far North where the cold winds were almost as dangerous as the predators, until Miss Nathair rang the bell to bring them in.

Planting time rolled around and school closed down. Summer came and school was held two days a week to give the children from beyond the village’s borders time to do the weeding in the fields. Dahlia’s Gran didn’t need Dahlia’s help so she let Dahlia go home with Cara sometimes.

Late at night, Cara once heard her mother’s voice through the thin walls. They were proud of her for befriending Dahlia which made her feel proud. But they felt sorry for Dahlia because her parents had been “carried off” by the flu a few years ago. Cara felt sad when she thought about what it would be like if her parents died and... angry. 

No one should feel sorry for Dahlia. Dahlia could already write the whole alphabet. There were ten year olds who couldn’t. She could run faster than any of the boys their age. She could do so many things. She was too amazing for pity.

Autumn came and school closed for the harvesting season. When it reopened in winter, Cara was quick to claim a seat next to Dahlia. On a bench this time because they were too big for the floor. 

The next two years passed much like the previous one. 

Dahlia was surprised by Cara. She was smart and so kind. Most of the other children were not cruel, not exactly, they just didn’t see the world the way Cara did. She saw every animal like they were people. She cried when the Stone family had to put their elderly cart horse down. She mourned over the Masons’ pig. Dahlia wasn’t sure how Cara had the energy. She had gradually become used to the idea that Cara wasn’t her friend because she was sorry abut Dahlia’s parents. Cara liked Dahlia without feeling sorry for her. The thought made Dahlia’s heart feel warm.

\---

Cara’s twelfth summer, she began attending alone. Grace had things to do around the house and she had learned all that Miss Nathair had to teach. Dahlia spent time after school trying to teach Cara how to shoot a bow. Her Gran was a fletcher and Dahlia had begged and wheedled lessons from some of her clients.

She corrected Cara’s stance firmly, pressing against the other girl. Cara was a quick study against targets but faltered whenever she thought about using arrows on real animals. Dahlia found it more endearing than frustrating.

Things changed during the following planting season. Cara’s father went in early one evening, his arm hurting. The following morning he was dead.

Cara stood dry eyed by her mother and sister as they buried him. Later, she cried in Dahlia’s arms. Dahlia kissed her forehead and stroked her hair until she fell asleep.

There was little hesitation after that when Dahlia taught Cara archery. She no longer flinched when she saw someone wring a chicken’s neck for dinner, she just averted her eyes.

Miss Nathair caught them once. Two girls intently focused on a target; one blonde and one brunette. The bright curiosity in those green and blue eyes made her regret missed opportunities.

\---

After Dahlia’s Gran passed on, Dahlia moved in with Cara’s family. Being fifteen, there’s was the underlying assumption that it would be temporary. Cara was reluctant to see Dahlia go. Once she left she’d be gone. Cara knew it in her bones.

The treacherous calm lasted until Silas and Grace were married. They made it through all the preparations and the day itself was bright and cheerful. The moment where things changed again came after the first dance.

Cara looked around and realized Dahlia was missing. She snuck out of the main tent and found Dahlia in their favorite place, behind the barn.

“Are you feeling ok?” Cara asked, sitting beside Dahlia.

“Just thinking. Bruck likes you, you know,” Dahlia said, not looking at Cara. “So do Bain and Terry.”

“They think I’m pretty,” Cara said ruefully. “It’s not the same thing.”

“You are pretty,” Dahlia mumbled.

Cara was startled into a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said when Dahlia’s shoulders stiffened. “I didn’t expect that from you.”

Dahlia stood. “Enjoy the dance.”

“Wait,” Cara grabbed Dahlia’s hand. “I want to dance with you.”

As Cara interlaced their fingers, Dahlia stood perfectly still. Slowly, she relaxed as they made up their own steps to the dance. “Run away with me?”

“Yes,” Cara said breathlessly.

Dahlia’s eyes widened in surprise. “You will? Really?”

“You thought I’d let you go alone?” Cara said in a hurt tone.

“Well... You always like things to be so safe. I thought maybe you’d want to stay with your family.”

Cara snorted and rolled her eyes. “Silas has already been making noises about how nice it is to have me around and how I shouldn’t take it as an insult but a girl as nice as me should have a household of her own.”

“You don’t want that?” Dahlia asked quietly.

“Some of it sounds nice. Miss Nathair said I’d be a good teacher.” Cara looked into Dahlia’s eyes. “I could get married and have two children, a boy and a girl. It’d be nice. This is more than nice.”

\---

“Why are you looking for the Resistance?” Gavin the brick-layer asked curiously. He eyed the girls doubtfully.

“We want to join,” the dark haired one said firmly.

“Do your parents know where you are?” Gavin asked severely.

“No,” she said just as firmly.

The blonde cleared her throat. “And if you try to send us back we’ll just go looking for the next nearest cell.”

“I could have some of my cousins escort you back to your village,” Gavin threatened.

“Don’t they have jobs and families? It’d be a waste of time for them to go all the way to our home for us to run away again.” The blonde said with a guileless expression.

“Go talk to the woman at the end of the block,” Gavin shrugged. No one would be going into battle until he was very sure they were ready. The girls might be convinced to pack it in before then. If not, then they’d be safer with him than wandering in search of the resistance. “How old are you anyway?”

“Nineteen,” The brunette said triumphantly.

“Uh huh. And out of curiosity, what are your names?” Gavin asked skeptically.

“Dahlia Fletcher,” the brunette said first.

The blonde glanced at Dahlia and then smiled. “Cara Fletcher.”

Dahlia blushed and smiled broadly.

**Author's Note:**

> The big bang project that booknerdguru and I worked on might still be created someday so I'm leaving out the plot but I want to write some of the world we intended to use. For inspiration; Star Trek The Next Generation had an episode where Worf bounced through the multiverse, "Cascade Point" by Timothy Zahn helped me visualize a structure for the multiverse, and the Amber series by Roger Zelazny helped give me narrative ideas.


End file.
